


A Hunt Triumphant

by Mokulule



Category: Forgotten Realms, The Legend of Drizzt Series - R. A. Salvatore
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Don't copy to another site, Drizzt just wants to belong, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Drizzt, Sojourn AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-05 22:28:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20280868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mokulule/pseuds/Mokulule
Summary: The hunting party of Dove Falconhand catch the mysterious lone drow accused of the Thistledown murders.Kellindil is forced to speak in the wile drow tongue more than he ever wanted and examine some of his arguably well-founded prejudices.McGristle is nasty as ever.AU of Sojourn, diverges when Drizzt turning around to help the party against the hill giants leaves him too injured to escape the hunting party.





	A Hunt Triumphant

**Author's Note:**

> I have been looking for an AU with this concept but didn't quite manage to find it, so I had to write it myself. Hope other's find some enjoyment of this.

Drizzt came to with a searing pain in his chest and a pounding in his head. He felt something wet running down the side of his face along his cheek and then dripping off his chin. Touching the liquid absently he confirmed it was blood. 

The memories came rushing in and he gasped shallowly: The farming family, the strange red-skinned giants and the party of hunters who’d been following him the past many days, his decision to turn back around when they had been outflanked by hill giants. He remembered now the rockslide, he’d set into motion, much more ferocious than he’d been prepared for. He’d struggled desperately to reach safety on a ledge. He didn’t remember going down, but figured the head wound was the cause of that. He could also add at least another broken rib to the rather extensive injuries he already had, he figured by the increased pain in his chest.

Drizzt was no stranger to pain and he focused outwards, only now realising Guenhwyvar, dearest Guen, standing protectively beside him. The great black cat growled warningly and her fur stood on end.

He followed her gaze and tensed; the elven archer stood a mere 10 feet away from him, an arrow nocked and ready to let fly at him. Reflexively he would have jumped to his feet into an evasive manoeuvre well known and quick as a flash, but sudden overwhelming pain in his _right_ leg made him cry out before falling back to the ground; it had been utterly unable to carry his weight.

Guen made a noise of concern before straddling him, standing bodily over him and shielding him with her body. 

From between her front legs Drizzt locked eyes once more with his fair skinned cousin. This time Drizzt didn’t try to explain he didn’t wan’t to fight, that he only wanted to know peace. He’d already tried that approach and gotten a taste of the elf’s innate hatred for him. Guen could not stand over him forever and the elf with it’s enchanted arrows and sure aim could easily force Guen back to her home plane in a single shot.

Drizzt closed his eyes, regretting this was to be the end but not regretting his choice to leave the Underdark, for staying would have been his doom as surely as coming here. His heart ached for the farming family, but he had avenged them and he realised had he not come they would merely have died earlier when the gnoll band would have attacked them.

He opened his eyes again, meeting the eyes of the surface elf. He was unafraid.

When Kellindil had interacted with the drow in the dark of the night, he had not expected him to be so very young. 

Looking at him now in the light of day, it was obvious that he couldn’t be more than half a century at most. Physically mature, but by elven standards only barely an adult. He was gaunt, the chase having obviously taking its toll on his already slender frame, and badly injured and not just from this recent rockslide but also the battle with the Barghest whelps, Kellindil realised. He was wearing an oversized primitive cloak likely of goblin make. He was not the well-equipped drow of warning tales.

Drow’s panther stood at his side growling warningly at him, but he kept his arrow trained steadily on his target and watched as he came to with a groan. The panther’s obvious worry towards its master was confusing to Kellindil. He had figured it a summon of some kind, a being who would follow the order of the creature holding its key to this plane, it would explain how the panther escaped into thin air. He had no quarrel with the panther, and the seemingly genuine affection between them, steeled his resolve to stay his arrow for now. 

He knew in his heart that the drow could have gotten away. Had it not been for him turning back and attacking the giants, Kellindil’s friends would not have stood victorious this day. His mind though searched desperately for a logical reason, an exploit the deceitful drow planned to use. And so he held his frown when the drow noticed him with those startlingly lavender eyes. He had never heard of a drow with lavender eyes.

The drow made a move to get up that was almost quicker than even Kellindil could see, but he fell back down with a cry of agony. Kellindil could admit to himself that in his distraction the drow might even had gotten away with that move, especially with the panther there to cover his escape. 

They already knew he was a formidable opponent — the dead barghest whelps was proof of that, and skilled as Kellindil and his friends were, he doubted they would have caught up with the wily drow had he not already been injured from that fight. 

The panther moved fully over its master, telling Kellindil in no uncertain terms that he would have to shoot the magnificent beast again to get at the young drow.

A look of resigned acceptance met him when he again met the lavender eyes. He was silent, no pleading for mercy or deceitful words, despite that he knew Kellindil spoke his vile tongue. 

Kellindil heard the other’s coming up behind him. They had no doubt seen the panther, but it was unlikely they’d yet seen the drow.

He turned around, spotted McGristle coming up fast with his bloody axe ready, staring angrily at the panther. He did not need the angry human escalating the situation.

“Stop there McGristle and leash your dog.”

McGristle stopped first mostly from shock, but then he was about to move on in anger before he noted the arrow pointing his way. McGristle remembered well both the elf’s accuracy and the fierce anger from the night before when the elf had threatened him for leading him to shoot the Hell cat. 

Satisfied Kellindil turned back to the drow, who now looked curiously at him. He grimaced at having to speak his language. “_Dismiss the panther._”

He only got an incredulous look for that.

_“You want me to shoot it to get to you?”_

The expected answer would be yes, for drow was known to sacrifice any and all for their own gain, but Kellindil suspected otherwise in this case; he was not disappointed. The drow grimaced as if the notion pained him.

“_Please don’t…_” He then addressed the panther, reaching out to caress the leg in front of him. “_Guen, please return to your home._”

The panther remained unflinching, only growling deeper. “_Guen please,_” he gasped at the pain in his chest, “_this situation is hopeless, don’t let the last thing I see be your pain._”

This at last convinced the panther, she bent down rubbing her mighty head against the felled drow, he turned around and clutched the cat back desperately. Slowly the cat dispersed into mist. The last thing Kellindil saw was the panther’s judging golden eyes, more intelligent than any mortal beast. 

“Yer got the drow,” McGristle barked and advanced heedless of Kellindil’s warning. The drow looked towards McGristle with horrified recognition as he once more demonstrated his complete inability to stand. 

“Stand back McGristle,” Kellindil demanded again.

McGristle turned on Kellindil brandishing his axe at him. “The drow’s head belongs to me!” He growled.

Gabriel came up behind McGristle, putting a hand on his shoulder abruptly reminding the mountain man he was outnumbered even with Darda injured. 

“Drow’s not going anywhere.”Gabriel said calmly.

Dove supporting Darda joined them at this point. She quickly took in the wounded drow, McGristle bristling at being held back, and Kellindil aiming his arrow at the unpredictable mountain man. Once again she regretted the need to bring the man along, though the reasoning had been sound at the time.

Fret beside Dove saw the drow and sighed greatly; “good we have the drow, now we can go back to civilisation. I’m never wearing this shirt again, it will be burned.” He gestured at the brains he’d accidentally wiped on the fine cloth. “and it was a favourite too,” he lamented.

It served to perfectly break the tension. McGristle threw a disgusted look at Fret before stalking a ways off. 

Kellindil lowered his arrow. Fret looked up and noticed his friends grateful looks.

“What?” He demanded in confusion. They all laughed at him and his face reddened, he didn’t realise it was the relief at surviving, more than his ignorance, that triggered the laughter. He turned to Dove pointing an accusing finger at her. “You owe me an entire new wardrobe after this.”

Dove sobered but couldn’t hide the wide smile, she set a hand on his shoulder; “and you shall have it my dearest friend.”

Drizzt was caught up in fascination of the happy atmosphere that had appeared among these obvious friends as soon as the angry man with the dog had left. His heart leapt in longing for these kinds of relationships. It reminded him of Belwar and their adventures in the Underdark, though it had been soured by their evil pursuer, and their friend Clacker’s miserable situation. 

The elf crouched down in front of him blocking his view of the friends.

This close the glaring sun was not such a detriment and Drizzt could see the green specks in the elf’s otherwise blue eyes. Somehow his eyes seemed less harsh than earlier, more tired than angry now. Drizzt could not begin to hope this meant anything good for him, it was probably just exhaustion from the battle and relief from surviving. 

“_You are a strange one drow._”

“Drizzt_,” _Drizzt insisted, he knew how easy it was to hate and fear a race of nameless beings. So too had he once upon a time thought both Svirfneblin and Surface elves to be evil, as he had been taught. At the elf’s confusion he clarified firmly: “m_y name is _Drizzt.”

The elf raised an eyebrow at him, obviously recognising the importance of names for he continued to avoid using it; “_Where are you injured?_”

Kellindil observed the drow’s frustration at his continued refusal to acknowledge his name. But he was careful not to lower his guard, and allow himself to truly contemplate the drow’s character, for injured though he might be he wasn’t yet secured.

“_My right leg won’t carry me,_” the drow eventually answered the question, his breath fast and superficial. “_I think I have several broken ribs and a head wound.”_

Kellindil nodded. Before quickly and efficiently searching the drow as well as he could with him lying down on his stomach. The drow stoically accepted being stripped of his cloak and patted down. Kellindil noted with interest how the drow’s boots seemed to be coming apart, not at the seams but as if the very leather was slowly dissolving. He didn’t react to him handing his scimitar or the small knife in his belt to Gabriel. Only when he found a small onyx statuette of a panther did he reflexively reach out, his face desperate, before he remembered his situation.

His hand fell and he looked down. “_Please don’t hurt her._”

Again Kellindil paused at the apparently mutual caring relationship between panther and drow. It was simply unheard of. He shook his head to dismiss the thought and turned to Dove.

“He should not have anything big on him, we should find a secure place to camp before conducting a more thorough search.”

Dove nodded. She accepted that the drow should be their prisoner, by Kellindil’s choice not to simply kill him.

By silent agreement it was Gabriel who would be supporting the dark elf, had any of them trusted McGristle the large mountain man would have been the obvious choice with Darda injured, but as it was, Kellindil kept half an eye on the drow and half on McGristle, an arrow resting lightly on the string of his bow. If he was being completely honest he thought McGristle more likely to cause trouble. What a strange day, indeed...

The drow nearly swooned from the pain as he was tugged to his feet, eyes rolling momentarily backwards in his head before steadying with his weight only on his left leg. It was not really an option to restrain the drow at this point if they were ever to leave this open area. The needed him to use his arms.

Gabriel was of course not happy having a drow more or less draped over his shoulder, but his understandable unease eased when it came apparent the drow had to use all his attention just standing and limping along.

They arrived in a suitable clearing with a clear spring nearby, the origin of one of the many streams Drizzt had used to throw their scent.

Here Drizzt got completely disarmed. Divested of his fine chainmail, his belt and his by now threadbare boots and wearing only his thin undershirt and worn pants he felt naked, not to mention cold. He sat shivering by one of the stalks of the not-mushrooms that grew in abundance on the surface, watching as they finely combed through his things for any semblance of weapons. They’d even looked inside his mouth for hidden tools and Drizzt couldn’t help but be impressed by how thorough they were. Even as he wished things could have been different.

The man with the dog had watched the whole spectacle with hatred in his eyes, smiling grimly whenever Drizzt gave away his pain. 

He was reminded of his experience giving himself over to the svirfneblin, but he had been different then. Desperate for whole other reasons, thinking he was loosing his very self to the hunter, a savage part of himself, it had been the only way he could have possibly survived and retained his self and principles. But his svirfneblin friend Belwar had taught him to trust in his self.

His captors now as with the svirfneblin didn’t seem unnecessarily cruel aside from the man with the dog who’d attacked him so many days ago. But that is where the similarities ended. Drizzt had not surrendered himself willingly. He’d been forced into this situation, wounded to the point where escape was a futile notion in efforts to help these people and even had Guenhwyvar threatened. The injustice of it frustrated and angered him, but still he sat placidly shivering. Because as long as he could not stand, he truly was helpless to change his situation; he would certainly not come far crawling. 

Even still his foolish heart held hope that since they didn’t kill him immediately, there was a chance for them to understand, that he meant no harm. 

Gabriel noted the drow’s shivering and the almost bluish tint to his dark lips. He sat against a tree his wounded leg stretched in front of him, but the rest of his limbs drawn in as tightly as possibly to keep warm. Kellindil was still busy going through his meagre belongings searching for anything that wasn’t as it appeared, and it would clearly be a while until he was satisfied. 

Gabriel sighed before digging a spare woollen blanket out of his pack and dropping it on the drow. The drow looked up at him with wide surprised eyes, the lavender hue was no less eery than it had been earlier, but unarmed and wounded it was easy to see the youth of their prey, and Gabriel had not forgotten that all their evidence pointed to the drow being innocent of the murders, though why he’d done battle with the Barghest was still a mystery.

He nodded down at the drow in acknowledgement.

Drizzt drew the blanket around his shoulders, it was made of a soft material that itched a bit against bare skin but was thick and undeniably warm so he suffered the itch. Made for the tall human it was plenty big to huddle into. Warm now, though his wounded leg was not covered, the events were catching up to him. Sleep had been sparse and he was exhausted. It was truly only a moment before his eyes fell closed.

Darda’s injuries had been seen to, the camp was set with a fire crackling merrily. She’d seen Gabriel’s generosity with a small smile and the drow falling into an exhausted sleep soon after. It would not do to underestimate the drow or allow pity to cloud her judgement. It was however obvious from the sorry state of his sparse belongings, that he was not apart of a war party. She didn’t believe he had committed the murders of the Thistledowns. But killing the Barghest whelps with only the panther, great as it was, was quite a feat, and they’d all experienced his skilled tricks in avoiding them. He had her respect for his skills if nothing else. 

Kellindil had taken a measure of responsibility for the drow to make sure he didn’t escape and she trusted her friend to do that job well. No, she was worried for McGristle now, she didn’t trust him not to try anything. 

For now they would prioritise rest and some good food to regain their strength.

Oo o oO

Drizzt was awoken by a hand roughly shaking his shoulder, his hands immediately went to where his weapons usually was. After a short moment of panic he forced himself to relax and met the elf’s eyes. 

“_Here, drink,” _the elf handed Drizzt a small flask. Drizzt looked at it suspiciously,

_“_What is it?”

“_A healing potion,” _he noted Drizzt’s disbelief and explained, “_we need you able to walk on your own.”_

Drizzt considered and nodded, before drinking the contents of the flask.A tingling warmth spread through his body but especially in his wounded leg, his chest and his head where his worst injuries were. 

Next he was handed a wooden bowl containing a hearty stew and a spoon. He considered the food, once again considering that it might be poisoned, but if they wanted him dead or hurt there were easier ways in his weakened state. He took a small bite, savouring the taste of a spice he’d never tasted but seemed to warm him to his toes. He wanted to eat more, but caution held him back till he’d decided there were no immediate adverse effects. Around the fire the rest of his captors sat and enjoyed their meal. Their voices were light and teasing. Drizzt absorbed their voices as he sat eating — if it wasn’t for the pain a constant reminder of the situation he could have almost imagined sitting among them joining in the friendly atmosphere. 

He ignored the elf sitting next to him watching his every move. 

When he couldn’t seem to get anymore out of the bowl he glanced at the elf, contemplating the possibly rude gesture. He decided he didn’t care much and the elf’s regard could hardly fall lower considering their reaction to the mere colour of his skin, and so he licked the bowl clean. Afterwards he glared challengingly at the elf.

It may have been his imagination, but he could have sworn the elf smiled at him for just a moment before taking the bowl and spoon from him.The elf gestured to his boots and the cloak he’d stolen from one of the raiding gnolls now laying folded in front of him.

“_You may have these back._ _Dress now, for you will be restrained afterwards.”_

Gingerly he pulled the boot onto his right foot, but some of the pain had already lessened, it must have been a very powerful healing potion indeed. He considered trying to make a run for it, but he didn’t think it would work out, and he certainly couldn’t leave without Guen. So instead he pulled the cloak on realising now that he should probably return the blanket. 

_“Does he want his blanket back?” _He asked reluctantly, not really wanting to relinquish its warmth.

“Gabe, drow wants to know if you want your blanket back?” 

The conversation at the campfire died as the attention turned to the drow. McGristle predictably sneered, but the rest of the party turned considering gazes on the dark elf. He shifted uncomfortably at the attention.

Gabriel shrugged. “Tell him he can keep it for now. It’s just a spare.”

No one said what they all thought, that the drow despite the obviously looted large cloak wasn’t dressed for the season. 

Kellindil relayed Gabriel’s sentiment.

The drow nodded, saying: “_thank you._”

Kellindil thought his response easily inferred from context and demeanour and didn’t bother to translate. Instead he found the rope, enchanted to prevent someone from slipping through its knots, which they had for just such an occasion where prisoners were taken.

He could see the consideration in the drow’s purple eyes as he approached with the rope, the way he intelligently weighed his options and wasn’t that just the problem with drow. They were supremely cunning, could keep up a ruse for as long as it suited them, and then turn around and strike your back. 

He waited for the drow’s decision, for even if the drow was merely biding his time, it would certainly be easier for Kellindil now, if he didn’t have to follow the drow into the night, though he doubted the drow could actually stand. He waited for the slump of his shoulders before coming the last step. 

“_This is not going to be comfortable_,” he commented. Then bound one wrist before going around the tree the drow sat against and binding the other wrist so that each arm was forced backwards a bit. The drow groaned at the strain and pain in his ribcage. Were it not for the potion given earlier this would have been akin to torture, but at this point the ache shouldn’t be too bad, though as he’d warned, it wasn’t going to be a comfortable night. 

He looked up to see McGristle’s gleeful look, reconsidered and went around to have a look at the drow. His breath was carefully shallow, and his ebony skin had paled to a sickly grey, you couldn’t fake that kind of reaction. Still there was no anger in the drow’s eyes, only pain and acceptance.

Kellindil was shaken, that had been exactly what he’d been trying to avoid, he had misjudged the extent of the injuries to his ribcage. He went and slackened the rope so that his shoulders weren’t drawn back that way. Now his hands could move about some more and he wasn’t nearly as securely restrained as Kellindil would like, but the other option was simply not in his heart. He went back around and carefully examined the drow’s ribcage with the tips of his fingers. 

“By the stars,” Kellindil cursed in his own language before addressing the drow, “_you have a single rib that’s not bruised or broken?”_

The drow had the audacity of a breathy chuckle, “_a giant… gave me a hug,” he panted in between every few words, “then.. I fell… halfway… down a cliff…”_ _He coughs, “some days later.. I decide.. to ride.. a rockslide.” The drow gave him a toothy smile and even in the low light Kellindil could see the blood speckling the white teeth. _

“Dove!” He said urgently. She was there by his side in a moment, aside from being a ranger she was also a sorcerer and he knew she had a few healing spells in her repertoire. “I fear he has a punctured lung.”

“So what if he does, we only need his head,” predictably McGristle had come over, “we should put him out of his misery.” He laid a hand on his cruel axe and sounded much too gleeful at the notion.

Dove spun around livid, advancing on the stupid man. “He has surrendered to us, he is our prisoner! Prisoners cannot die by our hand, or surrender will cease to become an option. If surrender ceases to be an option more will die on all sides of any conflict. Look around you and think before you make anymore suggestions. We are _rangers,_ not bounty hunters!”

Gabriel had stood up and led the mountain man to the far side of the clearing exchanging a few quiet words that made McGristle pale, even as the yellow dog growled, from where it was bound to a tree, at the threats to its master.

Meanwhile Dove calmed down and turned back to the drow. This was the closest she’d been to him. His eyes were hooded as he followed her movements. Sweat dotted his greyed skin. His breath carefully shallow and hadn’t she noticed earlier his careful breathing? Poor Kellindil thought it was he who exacerbated the issue, but Dove suspected it had only been too much pain for the drow to conceal. He had to be excellent at ignoring his own pain. 

First she cast a scrying spell of sorts to figure out where the problem was. For a moment she was overwhelmed by static of older injuries of various states of healing, the leg was healing well enough from Kellindil's potion. She focused on the lungs: There was indeed a puncture in the right lung, the bruised tissue bleeding. She chanted softly, a spell to stop bleeding, a spell to mend bone and a spell to move back that which had been recently moved.

Exhausted she sat back.

She observed the ebony black colour returning slowly to the dark elf’s skin. She had only healed the puncture and nothing more, but it seemed to be enough to set him to rights.

“Maybe we should merely bind his hands and legs, he’d be hard pressed to escape by crawling away, considering we’ll be having a sentry.”

Kellindil’s pale face nodded his agreement.

And so Drizzt’s first night with the rangers, called in from Sundabar, was not as unpleasant as he’d feared. 

The next day started with a breakfast of stale bread, which somehow turned delicious and crispy when roasted over the remaining embers — the dwarf who seemed to care a lot about his clothes (which Drizzt found strange but then many lies had been told about surface dwellers in the drow academy and maybe dwarves had been confused with the svirfneblin along the way, this dwarf at least didn’t seem interested in digging in the ground.) produced a glass of some kind of preserved food from his pack. At first seeing its red colour Drizzt had been repulsed, but after seeing the other’s lifted spirits at something that must be a treat Drizzt had looked closer at the bread with the red stuff smeared on top the elf had placed in the bowl from yesterday. He gingerly picked it up with his bound hands and sniffed; it smelled like nothing he’d ever smelled before, and figured it must be made from some kind of surface plant. He took a small cautious bite and his eyes widened in wonder, the bread still warm and crispy offset the sticky sweetness of the red spread. Underneath the sweetness it was a bit tangy and had it’s very own distinct taste like the smell; it was in one word delicious.

He continued to take small bites, even if he wanted to gobble down the thing in one bite, because he wanted to savour the experience.

Kellindil had gotten an incredulous look from Fret when he asked to have some of the strawberry jam for the drow’s breakfast as well, but had held his gaze until he relented. Kellindil felt immensely bad for the events of yesterday and this was in some ways an apology, even if the drow wouldn’t understand it at first.

It quickly became apparent that the drow had no idea what he was being presented with. After suspicious looks at the other occupants that happily gobbled down their food he’d tried it. If Kellindil was honest with himself seeing the way the lavender eyes lighted up in surprised pleasure and childlike wonder, would have been enough to beg the jam from the dwarf had he known it to be the result. He met the eyes of his friends who’d also seen the way the drow had reacted, and shared amused smiles. 

Kellindil glanced at where McGrizzle had secluded himself, eating his own stale bread and glaring hatefully at the oblivious drow. 

They set out after breakfast. Drizzt had been allowed to relieve himself in relative privacy behind one of the ‘trees’ (as he’d discovered they were called) and a drink of water from the cold spring beforehand.

They walked along in a relaxed pace that didn’t strain Drizzt’s right leg too bad. He was limping, but it did support him this day and he was confident he could keep walking at this pace for many hours yet.

The large human warrior who’d been injured in the giant attack walked on his own today, and Drizzt was sure the relaxed pace was meant to accommodate their companion rather than him, but he took full advantage of it. Listening curiously to the conversations, though he understood little, it was as much the melody and rhythm of the language he absorbed.

They ate lunch while continuing their trek, some dried meat, which was more Drizzt’s usual fare. He was being led along, hands bound in front of him and leashed to the elf, who was no novice and had the rope twisted a couple of times round his left wrist — there would be no easy pulling himself free. Last night he’d been too tired to experiment but today, he tried the tricks all drow learned to slip free of such bindings. There was air between his wrist and the rope and so it should have been possible to slip free. Every time he tried the ropes simply seemed to hold on just tight enough. It led him to the conclusion that the rope was enchanted to prevent such tricks. Most likely it wouldn’t resist being cut by at dagger though. 

And so they walked and Drizzt listened, all the while he catalogued the various members of the party and what hidden weapons he could see. He wasn’t truly planning any escape, but such were his training and experience of a decade alone in the underdark, that he naturally noticed these things and had already unconsciously deemed the long dagger hidden horizontally along the small of the back of the tall human who’d lent him the blanket as his best bet for cutting his bindings. 

It seemed the elf had become his keeper for sparing his life, for certainly someone else should be leading him otherwise. It seemed to the drow silly to have their archer occupied with holding his leash, when he would most certainly need both hands in case of attack. It was obvious though that while the party were experienced, very skilled and aware of the potential of an attack, they weren’t really expecting it. Perhaps it was because attacks weren’t quite so common on the surface compared to the wild Underdark. Drizzt had certainly thought so initially when he came to the surface until he’d met that fateful band of gnolls, who had led him to the farm, those events afterwards had almost led him to regret his decision to come to the surface.

There was a sudden stillness in the air. The small birds that usually tweeted and twittered in the waking hours had gone silent. 

The party realised it too, and with hand signs that reminded Drizzt of his times patrolling the tunnels around Menzoberranzan, the elf handed off his leash to Gabriel and took to the trees while the rest fanned out. The wind blew in from the direction they’d been walking, the dog growled and Drizzt sniffed deeply. His sense of smell was nowhere that of Guen and the dog, but compared to the humans and a dwarf more used to comfortable living, he had lived his life in a way where he often had to rely on other senses than sight to survive.

“_Goblins,” _he said lowly automatically hunching down looking for a plan of attack.

“Wazzat?” Said the dwarf from beside him, who hadn’t quite realised the situation

He tried to repeat it in the goblin tongue, with no response, and then as a last resort not even believing it to work, the svirfneblin tongue.

Apparently it was similar enough to some old Dwarven dialect that Fret understood, for his eyes widened and he repeated it in the tongue shared between the party, and they all turned to him. Drizzt was asked a short question, which he from the context understood well enough. And he lifted his bound hands to tap his nose with a single finger. 

They looked suspiciously at him and he simply shrugged he couldn’t control whether they believed him or not. It had to be quite a few of them for Drizzt to be able to smell them and he guessed at least 10 if not 20. The cowardly race had a fondness for superior numbers. 

“Drow might ’e right,” McGristle grumbled looking to his growling dog, its hackles raised.

Kellindil dropped back down as silently as he’d disappeared.

“A score of goblin ahead, lying in wait ready to ambush any that passes.”

Drizzt only understood the word goblin as that had been what the dwarf had translated to, but he could guess it was about an ambush, and not goblins on the move, from the calm demeanour of the party.

“We cannot allow them to stay, the next ones that passes this road might not be so fortunate in numbers or skill.” Dove whispered with a frown.

They gathered around her and Kellindil, as he drew a rough map of the area and the positions of the goblins.

Drizzt looked curiously at the battle plan gaining the gist of it. The leader, the woman who’d healed him yesterday would act as the bait — a lone female walking down the road, while the rest of them would split around both sides and attack when the goblins were focused on the lone traveller, a pincer manoeuvre. 

Darda, the man who’d been injured the day before was relegated to drow-duty. Drizzt quickly considered his options and so when they all drew their weapons so as not to make that noise when trying to sneak, Drizzt nimbly took advantage of Gabriel’s cloak rolling back and revealing the dagger he knew to be there. Quick and stealthily he lifted the dagger, the sound of it being drawn lost in the sound of the two swords being drawn. He’d counted on the sheath being well oiled for the need of a hidden dagger often demanded a quick draw and he was not disappointed, quickly he hid it within the folds of his cloak. 

The sneak teams set off, McGristle with his dog well-muzzled to the right with Kellindil, Fret and Gabriel to the left. On the count of 20 Dove started down the road in a languid carefree pace.

Drizzt obediently sat down when Darda indicated, it was a good strategy Drizzt wouldn’t have near as much momentum trying to pull the rope away from the man. What he didn’t know was that Drizzt had a knife and so at the sound of a horn, when the man was distracted looking worriedly towards where his friends had gone he neatly severed the rope, set it down gently and silently clambered up a tree. He headed for the battle through the treetops, none of the party would die if he had a say in it.

Darda glanced backwards, only to do a double take and turn completely back around, saw the neatly severed end of the rope, he cursed silently, drew his sword and ran as silently as he could toward the battle. Drow was gone. Stinking drow was gone and it was Darda’s fault.

Oo o oO

By the looks of it the party had the situation well underhand, the goblins had been utterly surprised and were being slain without too much trouble. Drizzt worried about that horn and kept himself hidden, looking out for anyone in trouble. The battle had almost been won, then there was the sound of running feet, dozens, an attack force of almost twice as many goblins, and these were not taken by surprise. They swarmed the party who were scattered because of the nature of their surprise attack.

Drizzt dropped down, bending his knees to take the impact favouring his left leg and cut the neck of a goblin posed to attack Kellindil from the side. The elf looked in their direction at the death gurgle and the drow winked at him, before joining the fray. He snatched up the long cruel dagger the goblin wielded, with a long curved dagger in each hand this was as close as he got to his beloved scimitars.

He drew his hood back with a battle cry that caught many of the goblins’ attention. At seeing the enraged drow, with fire in his purple eyes, many of the goblins simply turned and fled. It caused a great disorder amongst the goblins because several ran straight into each other. 

Drizzt called upon faerie fire and lined up five goblins who hadn’t fled instantly at seeing him and started up a throaty chant in the drow tongue that was actually simply names of streets in Menzoberranzan. They fled also, and with this he thought he’d managed enough discord. He conjured a globe of impenetrable darkness in their midst and dove in: hacking and slashing, dodging and parrying the best he’d learned, giving himself fully over to his instincts — the entity he called the hunter, a being that ignored pain.

Kellindil watched in amazement as the drow attacked, used the goblins natural fear of both dark elves and magic against them and then moved so fluidly Kellindil wouldn’t have believed he’d been limping along them all day. He was a flurry of death, a master swordsman, he would not have liked to face him when he wielded twin scimitars. 

Dove also saw the drow and for a moment she saw her friends’ deaths before her eyes for she believed him to be in league with the goblins. Then he turned his wrath on the goblins, causing the distraction they needed to survive, and Dove could hardly believe it, but it was there before her eyes, only 20 paces ahead. This time there could be no doubt that he was assisting them!

Darda came up to her and stood back to back with her.

“You let the drow go?!” She yelled incredulously even though she was relieved for the turn his presence had brought the battle.

“He slipped me!” Darda yelled back frustrated, “one moment he was there, the next: gone!”

And Dove couldn’t help but laugh, actually scaring the goblins she fought. They hesitated at the strange human female with the silvery hair, who laughed as she cut down droves of their kin, with a sword that struck fast as a snake.

The goblins had had enough, they were down to 15 still fighting, there was a mad woman, next to a giant man with a two handed sword that could cleave a goblin in half, there was a biting dog with a man as ugly as an orc, who wielded an axe like he meant them to suffer, a gangly swordsman next to the strangest dwarf ever seen, who wielded a tiny hammer that hit like it was twenty times its actual size — and lastly and most importantly there was a cursed drow. 

Drizzt stood panting in the middle of the blood soaked road. The pain with every breath had come back and his right leg pounded with a vengeance. Aside from that he only had a few scratches, fortunate considering the lack of his chainmail.

He turned around to face the gazes of his capturers. To flee or to stay, the battle raged within him. It was settled when the mad yellow dog came at him barking with a red snout and spraying red foam, followed by it’s hateful master. Drizzt had already decided he didn’t want to fight these people. So he ran for the trees. 

He’d been about to follow a branch to the next tree, when the whole thing shuddered. Drizzt lost his balance and fell. He barely got ahold of a branch of the next tree. There he hung in a single hand. The stretch on his ribcage was pure agony and he had not the strength to pull himself up. He could not drop down either for the dog was right below him, jumping and snapping trying to get as his feet.

He couldn’t breathe. The edges of his senses felt fuzzy. There were angry yelling in the distance. He fell; the world tumbled around him, but he didn’t fall far. 

…

_“Rest dark cousin, for you saved all our lives today.”_

…

Oo o oO 

Drizzt awoke slowly, usually he would awake suddenly and instantly be alert, not this time. He was lying on something soft and he was surrounded by warmth. Some delicious scent rose in the air and friendly voices sounded. He opened his eyes and looked straight up to the canopy of trees, the sky was red as it was at the end and beginning of every day. 

He turned his head slowly observing the friends by the fire. His gaze wandered and he blinked, wondering if he was seeing things, but no matter the times he blinked, he still saw McGristle tied to a tree and with a gag in his mouth. He frowned wondering at his sanity.

It was the elf of course who noticed he was awake.

He came over and smiled at him, and Drizzt felt deeply unsettled. He lifted a hand to his face to check that his skin hadn’t somehow changed it’s colour!

Kellindil guessed the point behind his action and chuckled. “_Come dark cousin, sit at the fire with us and answer some questions we have, so that we may get some clear answers to our guessing.”_

Drizzt stood, slowly testing his range of motion, before making his way over. Room was made for him between Kellindil and Gabriel whose dagger he’d stolen. He swallowed nervously, before sitting down. The human casually slung an arm over his shoulder, and squeezed once. Drizzt stiffened, wide-eyed, eyes darting about but no escape was forthcoming.

The human said something to him, which he obviously didn’t understand.

Kellindil helpfully translated; “relax, he only says that next time you wish to borrow a weapon you should ask first.”

Drizzt turned to stare at him incredulously, they all knew the party would have hardly lent him a weapon. Gabriel laughed and squeezed once more to show it was meant in good humour.

Slowly Drizzt lost some of his tension. The human kept an arm around him, and if it wasn’t for the strangeness Drizzt could admit the physical closeness to another being was… nice.

Dove said something from across from him. So she was the one to lead the interrogation. Kellindil translated. Fret, the dwarf was looking thoughtful meanwhile.

“She asks your name.”

Drizzt raised an eyebrow at him, and he had the grace to look a bit bashful, since that was information he’d already given the elf.

“Drizzt Do’Urden.”

“Drizzt.” She repeated with a nod. Drizzt was unreasonably relieved she hadn’t misheard it as ‘Drizzit’.

They asked how long he’d been on the surface and he answered to his best estimate that it had been several months. 

They asked why he had revealed himself to the farmer’s. Drizzt looked down at that, a look of pain crossing his face.

He looked up to Kellindil, meeting his eyes, willing him to understand.

“_I don’t know much of the surface or its races. I met a group of gnolls, who proposed friendship or alliance perhaps, we didn’t quite speak the same dialect of goblin, so I didn’t understand them fully. I followed along with them to the farmhouse. I realised they would attack the humans, I didn’t want to attack anyone, but who was I to judge sides in a conflict I knew nothing about? So I asked them what they intended to do.” _Drizzt closed his eyes, taking a deep breath._ “They would have killed the children.”_

_“I wasn’t aware drow cared about children.”_

_“They don’t, but _ ** _I _ ** _do.” _

And from the fire blazing in Drizzt’s eyes Kellindil could readily believe that.

“_So I killed them._” He stared unflinchingly for a moment daring Kellindil to judge him. “_But I had to see for myself it was the right thing to do, that I had not erred in my anger, so I watched the family go about its days._”

“_Were you in the right then?_” Kellindil asked, fascinated by the struggle of conscience that played on the drow’s features, for he had always been told drow had no conscience and that’s what allowed them to be so evil.

“_I still don’t know… I wasn’t in the wrong, for the family was peaceful, but I don’t know that that makes my actions _right.”

Kellindil was awed and amazed. Slack-jawed and wide-eyed he stared at the drow so troubled by his actions. This was unheard of. 

He was about to say something, not knowing what, when Fret who’d gotten progressively impatient through the conversation no one was translating burst out as best he could in that obscure dwarven dialect the drow seemed to know.

“_How you speak this tongue?”_

Drizzt blinked at the dwarf, the grammar was off and the words didn’t quite have the proper inflection, but it was understandable to him.

_“I speak the Svirfneblin tongue.” _He answered saying each word slower than he usually would to allow the dwarf time to better parse the words.

At the dwarfs confused look, and realising he might not recognize the Svirfneblin’s term for themselves. He looked to Kellindil and said, “deep gnomes” in drow.

Kellindil relayed his words intrigued.

A look of understanding came over the dwarf, but then he frowned in confused worry. He spoke and again it was a bit hard for Drizzt to parse it’s meaning, but after changing some words around in his head and speaking them to himself with a more svirfneblin inflection he grinned. He’d said he didn’t know the drow and deep gnomes were allies, and Drizzt almost couldn’t keep himself from laughing.

“_Not allies, but hated enemies._” He kept it simple, and seeing the dwarf understanding, but only being more confused, he explained; “_I_ have friends who are svirfneblin,” he pointed to his chest punctuating that it was he and only he.

“_How?!_” The dwarf asked incredulously.

Drizzt smiled fondly in remembrance of Belwar foremost, but also the other svirfneblin (mostly among the younger) he’d befriended.

“_I lived among them for a while. It is a long story._”

The dwarf still looked at him with disbelief. Then cleared in understanding and he nodded to himself.

“_As a prisoner, you mean._”

The rest of the party absorbing every word with intrigue though they understood nothing. Drow’s lavender eyes twinkled in mischief and they all held their breath for what he would now say.

“_For a couple of days, afterwards as a guest, and later a friend._”

The dwarf sputtered and muttered; “preposterous” in the common tongue.

Drizzt recognising the context if not the exact meaning of the word laughed lowly. There was not a single drop of maliciousness in the laugh, it was simply amusement. The party was quite fascinated, for was it not for the colour of his skin, right this moment he could have been one of Kellindil’s kin joining them for the evening as had happened many times in the past when they happened upon Kellindil’s nomadic people.

When the dark elf stopped laughing, he tried to explain; “it happened at least a decade after I left the drow city, Menzoberranzan, and it’s ways.”

The dwarf frowned trying to parse through the inflections that were as strange to him as his were to Drizzt. 

Fret reeled back. Switching to the common tongue, because he had to share his disbelief; “Drow says he left the drow city behind.”

Darda laughed heartily, while the rest merely coughed politely. Fret became gradually more red in the head. It was Dove who took pity on her dear friend, before he popped.

“That seems rather apparent, what with him being here and all…” She ended on a questioning note.

Fret jumped up. “Of course ye insist on misunderstanding me. He’s _saying_ he left his city and his people’s _ways,_ and more than a decade ago at that!”

There was a murmur of surprise at that. Drizzt drew in on himself unsure of the exchange he didn’t understand.

Kellindil turned on him; “Is it true that you left the drow more than a decade ago?”

Drizzt nodded cautiously, unsure about intensity directed his way.

“Yet you only came to the surface now, why?”

“I hadn’t considered it an option.” He paused looking for words; ”approximately 2 years ago my family started to hunt me in earnest for causing them to fall out of favour with their Goddess. I realised I would never find peace in the Underdark.”

Kellindil’s shrewd eyes narrowed; “and that’s what you’re looking for? Peace?” He had a hard time believing one so young and with such a passion in the fight could be looking for peace.

Drizzt leaned back from the intensity, further into the half embrace Gabriel still held him in which he seemed to have forgotten, much to the man’s amusement. He realised he had to be honest about his intentions, but he was suddenly scared of leaving himself vulnerable. This could still be a trick, a cruel trick of friendliness, before he was restrained again. Because who would believe the word of a drow? Clenching his jaw he forced himself to speak the words to leave himself open to further manipulation. 

“Belonging, is what I seek, more than anything else. Living alone in the Underdark with only Guen, when she could be summoned, was no longer an existence I could bear.”

Kellindil, inherently a social creature, shuddered at the implied loneliness. 

“That is why you revealed yourself to the farmers,” Kellindil realised out loud, “and why you didn’t hurt them.”

“So you believe me when I say I didn’t kill them?”

Kellindil narrowed his eyes. “Tell me what happened.”

And Drizzt did. He told him of meeting the children of how they’d been scared of his feeble tries to create friendship, like disarming the eldest boy without harming him, which had been horribly misunderstood. The small lightning quick creature that had stolen his lost scimitar, right before McGristle had attacked him. He admitted to killing the dog by simple reflex when it had come at him, though he regretted it deeply, and how McGristle had chopped down a tree that had landed on himself in his pursuit of the drow. 

With every pause Drizzt took in his telling to find words, Kellindil relayed the events to his friends who were sitting at the edge of their seats. For Dove so many things that hadn’t made sense, like how McGristle’s wound and lost ear looked like nothing a blade would have made, suddenly made sense. The events that had preceded the murders of the Thistledowns, that had made so little sense logically for a drow to do, made sense in the context of Drizzt’s loneliness. 

When Drizzt came to how he’d found the Thistledown’s murdered and angrily gone after their true murderers even the plowshare they’d found halfway up the narrow mountain path had made sense, for it had been used to stop the lightning fast creature whose species Drizzt didn’t know. 

He told them of rushing in without thinking and meeting the strange red-skinned giants with magical powers and the ability to shape-shift. He told how he and Guen had defeated them, of his own drop halfway down the cliff because his levitation spells had started to fail him. He told of the encounter with the regular giant and how he’d once again been offered alliance for the purpose of plunder. 

“I left the drow exactly because I didn’t want that kind of life,” he jumped up and started pacing outside their circle, the rangers’ and their dwarven friend watching him in fascination as he almost mumbled to himself. “So I killed him, sprung the trap I had set. Because if I didn’t he would surely go on to plunder and kill as he planned.” He buried his hands in his hair. “Once again I meddled in a conflict not my own.”

He stood still suddenly, looking to the starry sky. “I realised I was being followed. Guen coming back to me hurt confirmed as much.”

He detailed the rangers’ hunt for him from his point of view. It was like now that he’d started talking it all tumbled out of him, the raw hurt and the anger and frustration at being hunted for something he hadn’t done. How his loneliness and curiosity had betrayed him, when he doubled back and encountered Kellindil for the first time. He didn’t look at them just looked into the distance as he talked, lost down the path of these recent memories. 

He told them how he easily passed by the hill giants lying in wait by the cover of night, how he’d considered whether he should warn them somehow or lead them down another path, but hadn’t done so. How he’d watched the attack, wanting to just escape them, but realising the giants were flanking them, and if they succeeded, they would all die. So Drizzt had started a rockslide on the flanking giants, but had again been betrayed by the levitation spell, leaving him to be caught in it as well. 

Drizzt breathed hard, feeling a bit dizzy as he stopped talking. He heard Kellindil relaying his story in their common tongue. He felt naked all of a sudden all of his insecurities laid bare. 

He took a couple of steps towards a tree, let himself almost fall down into a sitting position against it. Drawing his knees to his chest he buried his face in his hands. Give him a fight any day, but words drained him like nothing else. He tried so hard to follow his principles, but in this surface world, he knew nothing about, everything was so confusing. He had never been silver-tongued as his kin was so infamous for, he could only hope his captors believed his sincerity.

They watched the drow retreat to hide himself. 

There was no doubt in Dove’s heart that he was telling the truth, and what a marvellous truth. The part of her that craved adventure, was taken with his tale, and she knew he had many more troubles ahead for his hard choices — many more adventures to be had. She found that she wanted to join him, for surely destiny must have something special waiting for one such as him.

A thought struck her, because by his behaviour he seemed very young, and he did indeed look young, but it was hard for a human to judge elven age, when they were mostly unchanged throughout the entirety of their long lives.

“How old do you reckon he is?” She addressed Kellindil.

He shrugged. “At most half a century…”

Her eyes widened. That was young for any elf, and so it had to be young for a dark elf as well, even though he’d probably seen many more horrors in his life than most surface elves many times older than himself. By surface elven standards he wouldn’t really be considered an adult until he was twice that age. 

Kellindil found the onyx figurine in his pouch and looked at it thoughtfully, brushing the finely detailed features with his sensitive fingers. He doubted the drow would appreciate any company right now from Kellindil or his friends, but perhaps the panther… Truly he wanted to simply return the figurine, but logic stated that he’d only interacted with the drow for two days, even if they’d chosen to trust him unrestrained. He had faith however that as long as he held the figurine the panther would not be a danger to him and his friends. Which is why he dared call the panther.

Guenhwyvar stopped mid-pounce in her eternal hunt for the elk, and immediately followed the call to the material plane. She had been anxious for her friend and master’s fate and now a voice she recognised as the elf who’d threatened him called to her. She materialised among the hunters and when she didn’t immediately see Drizzt she turned on her summoner and bared her teeth.

Kellindil was unnerved at the cat’s reaction, certain now, that the cat had much more agency than such creatures usually had. He cautiously nodded towards where the drow had retreated and saw the cat’s ears rise and it’s nostrils flare. Then with no warning she bounded over to the drow, who only just managed look up before he was bowled over. A loud purr sounded in the otherwise silent clearing, as she looked her master over for injuries. For he was her master no doubt, even though Kellindil held the small statuette. 

Momentarily startled, the drow just stared with wide lavender eyes at the cat. Then his face lit up.

“Guen!” He threw his arms around the strong neck and the cat responded by dropping down on top of him rubbing her face against his, purring up a storm all the while.

Kellindil looked to his companions who were all more or less successful at hiding their smiles, mostly less. It seemed the drow had endeared himself to all of them, except… Kellindil looked over to McGristle, he was silent as death but there was a deep hatred in his eyes when he looked upon the drow. 

He had a sinking sensation it wasn’t to be the last time they’d seen McGristle, even after they left him back in Maldobar. The man was clearly obsessed. So much in fact that he’d attacked Dove, when they’d stopped him from attacking Drizzt. It was for that they’d restrained him, the mad man had kept fighting. Kellindil shook his head, he did not understand the man.

Oo o oO

Drizzt awoke the next morning, Guen had stubbornly remained by his side through the night and she was pressed close. He petted her scruff and sat up. She raised her head curiously but not finding any danger she turned onto her back and stretched out in clear invitation for a belly rub. He acquiesced with a small smile. 

There was a rustle across the clearing and Drizzt looked up to meet Dove’s eyes from where she stood leaning against a tree. The rest of the hunting party had not yet awoken, and she must be the late sentry. She hid a yawn behind her hand and sent him a friendly wave. Drizzt raised a hand in return, marvelling silently at not being restrained. It felt good, like a warmth that spread all the way to the tips of his toes. 

This could be it. These people seemed willing to give Drizzt a chance. He wasn’t there yet, but for the first time in a long time his hopes didn’t seem so foolish. 

**Author's Note:**

> It is only now I realize this might mean the destruction of Ten Towns in the future and the rise of Crenshinibon - but hey Drizzt gets friends on the surface earlier? I mean that counts for something XD
> 
> I love the Drizzt of these books, he's still very young and very uncertain.


End file.
